


for all of the Damned

by cartoonmoomba



Category: Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XIII Series, Final Fantasy XIII-2
Genre: F/M, Pairings If You Squint, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 10:25:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3116633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartoonmoomba/pseuds/cartoonmoomba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In New Bodhum, 3 AF, there are no fireworks or wishes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for all of the Damned

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Final Fantasy XIII-2 does not belong to me, and neither does “Still Here” by the Digital Daggers.

_(…love turns to ashes with  
all that I wish I could say.)_

.

In New Bodhum, 3 AF, there are no fireworks. There was once a discussion on bringing them back, at a point when such a thing would be affordable and a passing luxury, but it was quickly shot down – after all, who did they have to send their prayers in the form of wishes up to, now?

(in the back of their minds, the new, the ever present question – _would such a time of peace ever come again_?)

.

.

Academia, standing proud some four hundred years into the future, is a different story. Colors bloom high in the dark sky, which is never completely black due the gleaming lights of the capital. Cheers and the happy screaming of children echo from down below, an uprising of noise possibly even louder than the attraction. Even during the night hours the city never sleeps, especially during the hours of the yearly carnival operating for days on end.

“We used to make wishes…” Serah’s voice trails off as she gazes up at the fireworks erupting above her and Noel, the latter of whom stands with his mouth agape at the scene. What else is he to do, the stranger from a foreign, dead world – once, perhaps sometime again, the last human alive? Academia has always been a myriad of bright colors to him, a drastic change from the bleak landscape he has spent the entirety of his life with.

The pinkette’s words go unnoticed in the happy chaos of the crowds, except for Mog – he glances at her from where he is floating between the two humans, his bobble drooping slightly;

(he thinks he remembers Lightning looking much like her sister right now is, the same traces of sorrow and melancholy in the eyes and the lines of the face—)

Serah tries to smile, despite the sudden painful sensation deep within her chest. It has been four hundred years, at least, since the Fall. She wonders if there is still a New Bodhum, if there are fireworks even grander than the ones here, on which the populace gathers to make wishes on. If these Pulsian born people even bother upholding the traditions of a decaying Cocoon.  

She wonders if Fang and Vanille can see them from where they are. If Hope is taking a break from his work, for once, to gaze outside and perhaps be reminded of a tragic day so long ago. If Lightning is watching, deep within Valhalla.

“Serah?”

Noel has finally noticed the forlorn look on his companion’s face, one hand hovering above her shoulder already, almost as if unsure whether he should place it there or not. She turns to glance at him, eyes alight.

“We used to make wishes on these, you know,” she says again, all smiles, and gestures up to the sky. Explosions of blue and yellow – the colors of the Academy – glitter above their heads. “Back in Bodhum, tourists from all over Cocoon would come just to see the wish granting fireworks. On the last one, before the Purge…” Her smile slips just the tiniest bit, not gone unnoticed by the two with her. _Everyone was there_ … “Snow proposed to me under them.”

The hand of Noel’s, still raised slightly beside him, falls. Mog bounces up and down in the air beside him, wings fluttering with excitement. “How romantic, kupo!”

“Yes…” Serah trails off again, her gaze reverting back to the sky. “It was. He gave me hope, that even if I was a l’Cie, it didn’t mean the end of things. I was… happy.”

(often, in her dreams of crystallized slumber, she would see the scene over and over again, the bright lights and the saltless breeze of the artificial sea and in the far distance, Anima’s temple—)

She wonders if she should try squinting, to see if the distorted vision would somehow block out the tall buildings around her and bring forth the illusion of Bodhum’s sky from the seat of the airbike. She wonders, after another moment, if it’s even worth trying.

There is no one left to send the wishes to, after all.

.

.

The view from a balcony at the top of the Academy building is unparalleled, and there Hope stands, alone and submerged in the quiet around him. The faint sound of explosions is his only companion.

“Almost as good as Bodhum’s used to be…” He says to – someone, that he has half a feeling should be there. An assistant, perhaps, or maybe a partner (a friend?). He blinks and the moment passes, floating into a sea of such similar occurrences – he feels as if he has kaleidoscope vision, sometimes, one moment seeing things that are not there the next. He attributes it to the changing timeline Noel and Serah are trying to fix, but he wishes he could just _remember_ , and not experience the frequent déjà vu and the brand new yet familiar surroundings, or words, or faces, or even his own damn thoughts.

How many times has he failed, in the other timelines, to create the one true timeline? How many times has he died for the sake of the one true future?

Hope leans on the cold railings and remembers his mother’s face, somewhat blurred after hundreds of years – the sleep in the capsule had done strange things to his memory, he knows. He thinks he saw the shadow of the man called Caius once, and he knows he heard Lightning whispering in his ear before the awakening. He did not dream as he did when he was crystal, for that short period of time. He hopes that Vanille and Fang have been dreaming all along.

On that day, in Bodhum, somewhere in the crowd had been Sazh, weighed down by the implications of the cursed mark on his son’s hand – Serah had been there, circling the dome of lights with Snow. Vanille had prayed with all the broken pieces of her heart while Fang searched tirelessly for her, and Lightning—

_Lightning_.

A sigh escapes him, and for a moment in this solitude, he allows himself to shut his eyes and feel the everlasting sadness. Even over four hundred years later the pain has not diminished. They had all been there together, and how strange that really was, they had discussed once – they probably saw each other in the crowds at some point. Lightning had even gotten a strange look in her eyes at the idea and subtly glanced at their two Pulsian companions.

_“Mr. Estheim?”_

Hope opens his eyes and touches the com piece in one of his ears. “What is it?”

_“One of the guys thinks his readings about the pillar are changing, you should probably come check it out…”_

“I’ll be right there. Thank you.”

Hope sends one last look at the carnival lights below him, and the fireworks painting the sky a palette of colors. He hesitates for a moment, trying to remember what it was that he wished for, on that fateful night with his mother beside him. He tries to remember (as he has often in the past, always to the same conclusions) if perchance he saw a glance of pink hair and a Guardian Corps uniform passing by in the corners of his vision.

The sky reflects the exact color of Lightning’s eyes (her image remembered most clearly, haunting his life) and Hope turns away.  

.

.

“I’ve always wanted to see the fireworks… Thank you for taking me, Caius.”

She is satisfied with standing at one of the hills at the outskirts of the city, watching with wonder from a distance. Caius stands ever present beside her, silent. Yeul almost smiles, because she is happy – she has seen plenty in her time, but she has been looking forward to these fireworks the most. There is something about them that even she is not sure of…

She opens her eyes, having not realized that she has closed them. She no longer stands but rests in Caius’s arms, her head tilted in such a way that the lights explode in brilliance right above her.

“There will be endless fireworks, one day…” she murmurs her last words, long hair brushing the ground as she exhales her final breath. Yes, even if it was brief, she saw them – a grand city, people celebrating the end of the (one of the many possibilities) world…

This Yeul passes under blossoming flowers in the sky whose beauty and life are as short lived and tragic as hers, forever with a smile on her innocent face.

.

.


End file.
